killer fridays

After one week of straight, cold drizzle, the weekend is upon us. Highlights of this week include purchasing a new, pink rain poncho, realizing that my cell phone actually made a full recovery and nearly throwing up not once but twice in a period of less than 48 hours due to sheer nausea from eating disgusting food choices (both times, choices that were not made by me. See how I suffer for the poor judgment of others? Life is so hard for me...)

PINK PONCHO
In some places, rain brings puddles to splash in or a respite from the blinding heat. In Shanghai, rain just brings misery. It cant even really be counted as rain, it's like a constant light drizzle making me think that the origins of Chinese water torture probably originated from this city. I can see the conversation now:

"What will make people go crazy?"
"Well, I'm from Shanghai and let me tell you about what happens to this city at the end of Feb..."

In Shanghai whenever there's more than just a touch of moisture in the air, the following is sure to happen with grim certainty:
1. it will be either way too cold/ way too humid
2. your feet will be wet
3. your apartment will refuse to warm up
4. you will get poked in the head with umbrellas
5. there will be no cabs
6. people will shove you out of the way to get a cab
7. everything will smell bad

I've been riding my bike a lot as of late in the rain in an effort to avoid the inconveniences of the situations posed in numbers 2, 4, 5 and 7 and to minimize the affects of situation 7.

While in China some people are able to do this no problem:


If I attempted it, I would probably be doing this:

No thanks.
So on Monday, Andy and I went to buy these beauties:

I got a pink one, Andy opted for a manly teal. RMB25/each and 15 minutes later we emerged looking like giant Easter eggs but fully protected from the rain. SUPER hot.

CELL PHONE RECOVERY
Earlier I posted about how my cell phone was stuck on 02/12/2009 for all perpetuity. Well, that wasn't quite the whole story. It was actually just stuck (so I thought) on the date 12. So the month would change. One day it was 02/12/2009, the next it was 03/12/2009, then the next it was 04/12/2009.

Figured it out yet?

I was reading the date wrong. 02/12/2009 was not actually FEBRUARY 12 2009 as I originally thought, it was in fact, DECEMBER 02 2009. Isn't that just the darndest? I swapped the dates around and now the phone is fine although I'm a bit concerned about my apparently terrible powers of deduction as it took me nearly a week and a half to realize the date thing.

DISGUSTING FOOD
Wednesday night I joined up with some friends for what I thought would be a simple Japanese meal. Instead the night devolved into a food Ripley's Believe it or Not with us picking fishy meat off of this freak show:


That's right, that's a LIVE fish that someone sliced and brought to the table for our dining enjoyment. I've heard about this practice before but never really understood or had any desire to experience it. That night at dinner, I learned an important lesson about peer pressure - it doesn't end at high school. So there I was, faced with a fish obviously straining to breathe, it's mouth slowly opening and closing, its eyes staring glassily ahead as if steeling itself for us to start picking at its flesh.

I could tell you that I ate the fish out of respect for it giving up its life to us. I could tell you that I ate it out of being open minded to this apparent culinary delicacy. I could tell you that I was genuinely curious. But I'll just level with you - I was fucking hungry. I had arrived late and by the time I had gotten to the table, the only thing my "friends" had left for me were two potato croquettes and a cube of fried chicken. Damn vultures.

There I was with nothing else to eat except for this poor fish and in spite of the hunger pangs violently spasming my stomach, I had to take a pause and evaluate if I really wanted to do it. But then my hunger got the best of me and I went for it. I snagged a translucent piece from the center of the fish careful to avoid looking at its head (not an easy thing to do with it's mouth still opening and closing).

I popped it in my mouth and chewed. How was it you ask? Was the fish tender? Was it infused with the ambrosia of freshness? Did I taste the exquisite flavor of life?

It tasted like death. A horribly chewy and tasteless death infused with a healthy dose of guilt. No matter how much I chewed it, the piece remained the same shape in my mouth. I finally had to just swallow it. It clunked its way down my throat and landed in my stomach with a dull thud disproportionate to its small size. Never. Again.

The next afternoon, still nauseous with the memory of my meal the night before, I heard a voice scream from our office intercom. "CAKE! CAKE in the kitchen! Come down now!" it commanded. Cake? YESSSSS! I ran down stairs and in the center of the table sat a ruffled, white chocolate flake cake with white icing. Pristine, delicious. I grabbed a slice and took a big bite. To my horror, rather than my mouth being filled with buttercream goodness, it was filled with the taste of this:


It was durian flavored cake. For those of you unfamiliar with durian, I will tell you now - it tastes as disgusting as it looks. I'm not sure if fruit can be described as gamey but that's a pretty apt description durian - that is if that game had been mowed down by a truck days before, left out on the road to rot and then had gasoline poured all over it. Most of the time the smell will hit you before the taste but when smothered under flakes of white chocolate, I didn't notice until it was too late. One minute you're at a happy, birthday celebration, the next minute you feel like someone has farted into your mouth. It was a pretty jarring jump in states of being.

That's the highlights for this week really. There were highs, there were lows and there were some things thta just were. I'll end this update with a current affair topic that has been on everyone's minds - monkey pets mauling their owners.

Happy Friday! xo

put a donk on it

Described by Vice magazine as "rave-based dance music created around no-budget 150 bpm bouncy beats, intrusive fog-horned synth stabs, cartoon-y samples, and unsettlingly saccharine highs," Donk, a wierd mutation of happy hardcore and gabba high off speed has swept the British countryside by storm. Leading the bouncy charge is Blackout Crew's infamous "Put a Donk on it" a song whose main premise is that all strains of music are improved when you put donk into it.



After watching the video, I'm inclined to think that pretty much anything can be improved when you put a donk on it.

government lets citizens investigate police scandal:

Man is in China prison. Man dies from mysterious head wound after playing game of hide and seek. Local police deny wrong doing. Citizen's suspicious, setting off a hyperbole of online speculations on veracity of police report. Local government, in an effort to be more open and transparent selects group of 15 netizens to investigate matter. "Randomly selected" netizens turn out to be former government employees. Investigations stonewalled by local prison. Efforts wasted. Still no one believes police report. Operation transparent - FAIL.

I've lived in China for quite awhile so things like this shouldn't surprise me as much as they do. Sometimes, I just feel like so many sweeping political decisions are seemingly made on whims and hurt feelings rather than actual, logical thought. One example is the countrywide ban on lip syncingfollowing the Olympic opening ceremony. Another is the tightening down on the entire music scene following Bjork's infamous "Free Tibet" debacle.

Lack of foresight and the ability to really think things through seem to be the two main components that torpedoed this particularly ingenious plan to win back public opinion. Let's be completely honest here - despite the Chinese government taking steps forward (or as some would argue, being dragged forward due to global and national pressures) in toning down the whole wrathful God approach to controlling its citizens - at its core, its still a ruling system that's mired in obscuring and oppression. There's a reason why so many people are deeply suspicious of it.

In this particular case, while it's kind of commendable that they wanted to give a little power back to the people; it's a bit inexcusable that they obviously forgot one crucial fact - either you are transparent or you are not. To do it halfway is worse than not doing it at all. Rather than being oppressive, you're being condescending. Rather than quelling, you give people false hope. Rather than changing opinions, you reinforce their fears, making them more sure than ever that you're guilty.

For full article click here.

mom finds my blog - FML

Dear D,

I just like to remind you, could you not to use your real name on your blog? In fact the more cute non-real name the more responds they get.

The last reminder, please never use F word on the blog. People contaminate the cyper space by doing so. Please not to follow their suits. Thanks. Keep in touch.


Love,
Mom

For more Asian mom fun click here.

small thoughts in quick succession

THINGS I DISLIKE
1. When bill collectors who call at 8am especially when it's the electricity bill collector who refuses to walk up my stairs.

2. When my shower won't heat up all the way.

3. When I get to work and find that all the fruit the ayi has laid out for us for breakfast has been taken but then walk by my co-worker's desks and see that they've taken so much fruit it's like they've set up a fruit stand.

NICEST COMPLIMENT I'VE RECENTLY RECEIVED
"You breaking up reminds me of the New York Times slideshow on the Yves St. Laurent auction last week when everyone was scrambling to snatch up peices."

"Because everyone's jumping on the break up train?"

"Because some peices only go on the market every twenty years or so. You're like the Picasso on slide 9."

MEAN THINGS I SAY TO PEOPLE I LIKE ALWAYS CENTER AROUND APPEARANCE
Making me think that inside I'm kind of vain and a bit of a bitch... but hilarious.

OTHER THINGS I FIND HILARIOUS
1. Sam's wiggly ears
2. The word "butter face"
3. Jenn and I winding Yaya up
4. Andrew's purring ... and twitching
5. The way Kate always says Eh? because she's Canadian
6. The mechanical toy zebra I got from Jordan

I ACT ANNOYED ABOUT BUT SECRETLY LOVE...
The way my friends have been totally over-protective and nosey over my well-being as of late.

Thanks. x

you must be a muñeca if you're still standing still

In an attempt to get in shape while avoiding the gym, I've signed myself up to a year's membership at a dance studio. I've been going for the past two weeks and am seeing minor results. I work in advertising and you wouldn't think it but the agency is full of aspiring dancers.


Just look at those lines and forms. As you can see, I have a lot to live up to.

Unrelated but kinda related segue: in the future even pole dancing will be done by robots!

jokes to pick up girls with (say all of them and in this order)

Joke 1:
Q: How much does a polar bear weigh?
A: Enough to break the ice.

Joke 2:
Q: What did one elevator say to the other elevator?
A: I think I'm coming down with something.

Joke 3:
Q: Where does a king keep his armies?
A: In his sleevies.

Joke 4:
Q: What's the difference between jam and jelly?
A: Well I certainly can't jelly my cock into your mouth.

It'll be love at first punchline. xoxo!

small dialogues for rainy days final

In a smallish flat decorated with modern furniture and bohemian touches. A girl sits cross legged on her bed, phone in hand. She's talking to a boy. She's crying. The boy over the phone sounds upset.

Girl: I can't be your maybe. It's not fair.
Boy: I know.
Girl: I'm not going to call you anymore.
Boy: I know.
Girl: I don't want to be in love with you anymore.
Boy: I understand.
Girl: ...
Boy: I'm really sorry.
Girl: I know.

They hang up.

Two hours later Girl calls Boy.

He doesn't pick up.

Girl remembers the elephant man.

small dialogues for rainy days pt. 3

Small park. Slightly crowded. A boy and a girl sit on a bench. Their arms wrapped in heavy overcoats brush against each other. Winter. Sunny.

Boy: I'm never going to marry you.
Girl: ...
Boy: I think it's over.
Girl: ...
Girl: Are you sure?
Boy: Yes.

Boy walks away. The girl trembles.

small dialogues for rainy days pt. 2

The stacks at a university library. The room is dimly bright. Rows and rows of books sit on oak shelves. A boy and girl sit next to each other at a desk. Books are scattered across the table. The boy and girl both have notebooks and are taking notes from respective textbooks.

Boy cracks joke at girl's expense laughing a silent laugh.

Girl glares and grabs boy's notebook. In large block letters she writes,

"I HATE YOU."

Boy takes her notebook. Girl silently protests. He's scribbles something underneath and passes it back to her. Girl reads the untidy scrawl beneath her own block letters.

"i love you."

small dialogues for rainy days

Sunday afternoon in a smallish flat decorated with a hodge podge of modern furniture and bohemian touches. The sky outside is gray. A boy and a girl lay on opposite ends of a long cream colored couch, their feet sometimes touching.

Boy: What do you think is the epitome of lonely?

Girl: When you've been with someone and you're in bed, just lying there about to fall asleep and suddenly despite the fact that that person is right next to you and you're with him, you still feel totally alone.

You?

Boy: The elephant man.

the future (present?) of dating...

february is for break ups

Being a Georgia gal, I don't take kindly to cold weather. For the last six days, Shanghai has been drizzly, gray and miserable. Yesterday the weather was totally playing with my emotions. I woke up to sunny skies. The air was cool and crisp, whispering promises of better days to come but as soon as night hit, the weather reared it's true intentions - happy days were not to be here again.

The current, perpetually soggy state of Shanghai has totally driven home the fact that this Febuary has been a totally shit month - global layoffs, companies backrupting and an unsettling skyrocketing in break ups. Supposedly the month for love, Cupid's arrow seems to be a crusade to break hearts rather than make hearts. It feels like every other day a new couple is breaking up. If you're considering ending a relationship, now seems to be the time to do it. The world seems more full of single people than ever.

Misery has always loved company but it must be actively recruiting this month.

in the playground that is shanghai, buses are the kids who punched you and then stole your lunch money

In the volumes of text that people have written about the "China experience," the driving and traffic has definitely been more than one person's topic du jour. In the States, Asians are constantly the butt of all jokes about driving quality. While I'd really, really, really like to argue in our favor, I have to say that the stereotype that Asians are bad drivers is pretty well founded.

Once I sat next to my mom as she, during the mid afternoon mall rush, slowly ran a red light. I guess she figured if she was going to break the law, she may as well as do it with slow determination. When I freaked out and told her to go faster, feeling the burn of glares directed at us from all sides, she told me, "AIYA, how you stress out mommy. Now she need to take break." and with that she drove off to the side of the road and sat there while she "calm down." Great.

I kind of always figured it was because Asians in Americas were bad drivers because they started out late. While the rest of Americana were burning asphalt at 15, our moms and dads were still back in their respective countries tearing up roads with their bicycles. So, to me, it wasn't so much as they were bad drivers, it was that they weren't good drivers yet. A late bloomer if you will.

Then I went to China and had this epiphany:

"Fuck, maybe this is genetic."

Cars whizzing in every direction. No one stopping for anyone. It was like the roads were like one big game of chicken and everyone wanted to be a contender. I once watched as two cabs crashed into each other head on at 10 mph because neither wanted to yield to the other one. Looking at the crash site, it was difficult to gauge who was more at fault because they managed to hit each other precisely at the center of the intersection. Traffic was backed up for the next 6 hours.

In all the literature on the chaos theory that is drivers in China, one particular vehicle needs to be singled out. Not enough focus has been put on it but I'm ending that right now in this post where I will declare in all CAPS which, as everyone knows, is the writing equivalent of verbal yelling:

BUSES ARE FUCKING DICKS.

It's true. I'm all for public transport with it's socially conscious agenda but the buses here in Shanghai are out of control. They don't need etiquette classes, they need to be repeatedly punched in the neck with a Miss Manners manual. If Shanghai were the land of giants in Roald Dahl's The BFG, buses are the giants that ate children who and should be disposed of like they were in the book - trapped in a large hole and made to eat cowcumbers for the rest of their lives. For those of you who haven't read the book and are now upset that I ruined the ending, I apologize. But really? You haven't read the BFG? You philistine.

I digress.

Back to buses - or what they should really more aptly be called - Menaces to Public Welfare.

Bulky and loud, these buses - deceptively nimble - careen dangerously around on the streets. It's seemingly ridiculous for these public transport vehicles to make transporting the public their primary goal. Oh no, that's just secondary hobby, a diversion from their true ambition of trying to mow down anything that happens to be in their paths. They literally speed up with malicious pleasure when they see you in front of them. More than once I was treated to the blind fear of seeing a 3000 pound bus stampeding towards me like some beserk green elephant.

Even when you surrender the road, they like to remind you who's the king of the jungle, whipping by you so fast that you can feel the pressure drag. Insult, injury. At least in subways there's a safety line you can stand behind. Where's the safety line above ground? And the horn? It's like there's some quota for number of honks every bus needs to meet or else they don't get their paychecks. I FUCKING HEAR YOU. I CAN ONLY RUN SO FAST YOU ASSHOLE.

I've developed this repeating daydream where I just carry a bag of eggs and tomatoes around with me and throw them at obnoxious drivers. Every time I see a bus careening straight for me I imagine myself reaching into that bag, pulling out a tomato and or egg. I imagine my arm rearing back, the look of confusion on the driver's face, my arm snapping forward, my fingers releasing, the look of confusion changing to a look of "Oh fuck." And, despite the fact that I've never thrown anything straight in my life, my fantasy tomato will fly through the air in a long, graceful arc until it collides with the bus windshield.

In slow motion and hypercolor, I see it splatter, spreading itself like an ameoba all over the clear plane. As the driver's face turns into angry dismay, I reach into my bag and bring out a horn and, smiling broadly, I press down, honking two, blaring, obnoxiously long honks.

climb out the windows, kick down the door

This morning, Jenn found herself in the rather unpleasant position of being locked inside her apartment. Two hours, a hammer, a drill and a new lock later, she is finally out. Yaya, Andrew and I were there for moral support and to hold an impromptu stairwell party because we are such good friends.

sure fire way to cheapen a good novel (and novelist)

MY FRIEND JENN recently let me borrow Love in the Time of Cholera. I've read Chronicles of a Death Foretold by Gabriel Garcia Marquez and found his writing style to be intense, raw and beautifully vivid with a lively strain of magical realism that seems to be a running theme amongst Spanish speaking novelists.

In dating we have things that turn us off and turn us on. Turn offs for me include bad breath, loud chewing and high pitched laughter. Turn on's include wit, humor and a good vocabulary. I always knew that I was a bit of an intellectual snob - this realization coming shortly after becoming irrationally distressed and nearly breaking up with an old boyfriend over him not recognizing Picasso's Guernica ("I just don't know who you are anymore!")but my intellectual snobbery has reached new, uncontrollably geeky heights since my discovery yesterday that not only do I have dating turn offs, I also have literary turn offs. Cue downward spiral leading to me living alone in a studio flat cluttered with dusty books and too many cats...

On this particular book at the top edge of the cover are these words (written in what suspiciously looks like Times New Roman font - what blind person designed this??): NOW A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE. I did not capitalize that line for effect, it is in fact capitalized on it's own volition. As if the mark of a good read is if it's been converted, stripped and mass marketed as a blockbuster. Really?

That line is only a minor infarction when compared to this gushing wound of a story description on the back cover (which includes this quote - once again the capitalization is not my idea - from someone named "Opran Winfrey" - ONE OF THE GREATEST LOVE STORIES I HAVE EVER READ. IT IS SO BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN. What kind of a book recommend is that? It's like a food critic visiting Le Cirque and saying, "Food was good. I like wine. Yum!"). Anyways, I digress. Here is the story description:

"Fifty-one years, nine months and four days ago, Florention's adoring love was rejected by the beautiful Fermina. While she became the model wife to a wealthy doctor, pore Florentino pined for her, and has done so ever since, never finding love of peace as he yearns for the day he can woo her again. When Fermina's husband is killed falling from a mango tree, Florentino seizes his chance to declare his enduring love. But can young love find new life in the twilight of their lives?"

Wow. Good going, book jacket description writer, you've managed to reduce one of the most eloquent writers of the modern era into a soap opera script hack.

zebras get what's coming to them

Andy and I like talking about things. Some things are good. Some things not so good. Sometimes we agree. Sometimes we don't speak for a couple of days but there is one issue in which we are completely aligned - zebras are the dullest animals on the African plains. Oh sure, they look all sporty and fun with their stripes but don't like the flashy exterior fool you, on the inside they're more boring than a silent movie is to a blind person and it's time the world knows.

To spread the word, Andy and I have designed a t-shirt although the way he's presented it, he would have you think the idea was all his. Besides being a good chat buddy, Andy is also sometimes a huge jerk.

Line reads: "Zebras are the wet blankets of the Serengeti"
The zebra on this shirt requested to remain annonymous just to ruin the fun.

bedtime stories

Before I loved Nicole for The History of Love, I loved her husband Jonathan for his book Extremely Loud & Incredibly Book. Basic premise (taken from book dust cover):

"In a vase in a closet, a couple of years after his father died in 9/11, nine-year-old Oskar discovers a key...

The key belonged to his father, he's sure of that. But which of New York's 162 million locks does it open?

So begins the quest that takes Oskar - inventor, letter-writer and amateur detective - across New York's five boroughs and into the jumbled lives of friends, relatives and complete strangers. He gets heavy boots, he gives himself little bruises and he inches ever nearer to the heart of a family mystery that stretches back fifty years. but will it take him any closer to, or even further away from, his lost father?"

Like History of Love, I've read and reread this book too many times to remember. The writing is so simple but it fills you with this amazingly beautiful ache. Here's my favorite part which makes me tear up every. single. time.

" I cried some more. I wanted to tell her all of the lies that I'd told her. And then I wanted her to tell me that it was OK, because sometimes you have to do something bad to do something good. and then I wanted to tell her about the phone. And then I wanted her to tell me that Dad still would have been proud of me.
She said, "Dad called me from the building that day."
I pulled away from her.
"What?"
"He called me from the building."
"On your cell phone?"
She nodded yes, and it was the first time since Dad died that I'd seen her not try to stop her tears. Was she relieved? Was she depressed? Grateful? Exhausted?
"What did he say?"
"He told me he was on the street , that he'd gotten out of the building. He said he was walking home."
"But he wasn't"
"No."
Was I angry? Was I glad?
"He made it up so you wouldn't worry."
"That's right."
Frustrated? Panicky? Optimistic?'
"But he knew you knew."
"He did."
I put my fingers around her neck, where her hair started.
I don't know how late it got.
I probably fell asleep, but I don't remember. I cried so much that everything blurred into everything else. At some point she was carrying to my room. Then I was in bed. She was looking over me. i don't believe In God, but I believe that things are extremely complicated and her looking over me was as complicated as anything could be. but it was also incredibly simple. In my life, she was my mom, and I was her son.
I told her, "It's OK if you fall in love again."
She said, "I won't fall in love again."
I told her, "I want you to."
She kissed me and said, "I'll never fall in love again."
I told her, "You don't have to make it up so I won't worry."
She said, "I love you."
I rolled onto my side and listened her walk back to the sofa.
I heard her crying. I imagined her wet sleeves. Her tired eyes.
I felt in the space between the bed and the wall and found Stuff That Happened to Me. It was compeltely full. I was going to have to start a new volume soon.

...

I grabbed the flashlight from my backpack and aimed it at the book. I saw maps and drawings, pictures from magazines and newspapers and the Internet, pictures I'd taken with Grandpa's camera. The whole world was in there. Finally, I found the pictures of the falling body.
Was it Dad?
Maybe.
Whoever it was, it was somebody.
I ripped the pages out of the book.
I reversed the order, so the last one was the first, and the first was last.
When I flipped through them, it looked like he man was floating up through the sky.
And if I had more pictures, he would've flown through a window back into the building, and the smoke would've poured into the whole that the plane was about to come out of.
Dad would've left his messages backward, until the machine was empty, and the plane would've flown backward away form him, all the way to Boston.
He would've takent he elevator to the street and pressed the button for the top floor.
He would've walked backward to the subway, and the subway would've gone backward through the tunnel, back to our stop.
Dad would've gone backward through the turnstile, then swiped his Metrocard backward, then walked home backward as he read the New York Times from right to left.
He would've spit coffee into his mug, unbrushed his teeth, and put hair on his face with a razor.
He would've gotten back into bed, the alarm would've run backward, he would've dreamt backward.
Then he would've gotten up again at the end of the night before the worst day.
He would've walked backward to my room, whistling "I am Am the Walrus" backward.
He would've gotten into bed with me.
We would've looked at the stars on my ceiling, which would've pulled back their light from our eyes.
I'd have said "Nothing" backward.
He'd have said "Yeah, buddy?" backward.
I'd have said "Dad?" backward, which would have sounded the same as "Dad" forward.
He would have told me the story of ht eSixth Borough, form the voice in the can at the end to the beginning, from "I love you" to "Once upon a time..."
We would have been safe."

Fail.

FOLLOWING ON THE heels of Roflcats, is a line of pictures where people just write FAIL.


I'm not sure why I love the FAIL pictures so much but here are my contributions:

typography and phrases

Neat meat letters courtesy of Robert J. Bolesta.



More actions should be described in a series of verbs

eg. my friend s on describing dropping an iphone into a sewer:
"bounce (light), bounce (light,) bounce, plop, darkness"
(the phone unfortunately did not survive)

cell phone recovery

JUST A QUICK UPDATE: after two days of submersion in a bowl of rice, my cell phone is back up and running! The date seems to be the only thing that's been affected and is now permanently set on Feb. 12 2009 (the day of the accident). It's as if my phone, like a vengeful girlfriend, will be lording my flub over me for all time.

But despite that passive aggresso snub, I'm just glad I have it (mostly) up and running. Ah my loyal E71, mommy's missed you.

xoxo.

get booked

LATELY I'VE BEEN REREADING Nicole Krauss's The History of Love, an amazing novel with a kind of sappy name. Below is one of my favorite passages, I love it so much, I'll type it out for you guys to enjoy it too:

"THE DEATH OF ISSAC BABEL

Only after they charged him with the crime of silence did Babel discover how many kinds of silences existed. When he heard music he no longer listened to the notes, but the silences in between. When he read a book he gave himself over entirely to commas and semicolons, to the space after the period and before the capital letter of the next sentence. he discovered the places in a room where silence gathered; the folds of curtain drapes, the deep bowls of the family silver. When people spoke to him, he heard less and less of what they were saying, and more and more of what they were not. He learned to decipher the meaning of certain silences, which is like solving a touch case without any clues, with only intuition. And no one could accuse him of not being prolific in his chosen metier. Daily, he turned out whole epics of silence. In the beginning it had been difficult. Imagine the burden of keeping silent when your child asks you whether God exists, or the woman you love asks if you love her back. At first Babel longed for the use of just two words: Yes and No. But he knew that just to utter a single word would be to destroy the delicate fluency of silence.

Even after they arrested him and burned all of his manuscripts, which were all blank pages, he refused to speak. Not even a groan when they gave him a blow to the head, a boot tip in the groin. Only at the last possible moment, as he faced the firing squad, did the writer Babel suddenly sense the possibility of his error. As the rifles were pointed at his chest he wondered if what he had taken for the richness of silence was really the poverty of never being heard. he had thought the possibilities of human silence were endless. But as the bullets tore form the rifles, his body was riddled with the truth. And a small part of him laughed bitterly because, anyway, how could he have forgotten what he had always known: There's no match for the silence of God."

Someday, I hope that I can write things like this...

my cell fought the toilet and the toilet (may have) won

I AM A TERRIBLE phone klutz. I'm constantly dropping my phone on hard surfaces or accidentally crushing it with hastily, ill placed objects. Considering my past record, the events that transpired last night should feel more like a natural evolution rather than what it actually feels like - a downward spiraling conviction of my failure in life as a 25 year old.

Last night, at precisely 11:42pm (give or take a couple hours based on whisky ginger intake), my cell phone slipped from my jeans pocket and plunked squarely into the bowl of a still unused (thank God) toilet. Whereas my usual reaction to unforeseen and unfortunate circumstances is to freeze or become incoherent (it's true, I'd be the first to die in a natural disaster because instead of running for cover or executing a cool-headed, MacGyver-inspired survival maneuver, I'd stayed rooted to the ground, my mind churning out a million, half thought out solutions but my body incapable of executing even a fraction of one), this time I reacted with lightening quick speed, immediately scooping up my sopping wet phone and turning it off.

There are many tell-tale signs that your night has ended. For some it may be when they can no longer hold a coherent conversation, for others it may be simply feeling a bit tired and for a few (and we all know a friend with this story) that realization comes much later and in the form of waking up on a strange couch inside your security guard's hut not wearing any pants - for me, my night ended exactly during the moments in which I touched toilet water with my bare hands and then frantically rubbed my sopping phone all over my jeans.

My jeans are currently in the laundry. My phone has since been swabbed with Loreal face toner (lack of rubbing alcohol)and is sitting in a big bowl of uncooked rice. I will attempt to turn it on in three days time because that is the advice I gleaned from Googling "What to do when you drop a cell phone in a toilet." Wish me luck.

losing weight is easy, all you need to do is starve yourself!

WINTER WINDS ARE fastly blowing away, leaving in their absence the humid breezes of spring. Right now marketers are ramping up to high gear to push out products and programs aimed at helping (mostly) women feel bad about their bodies. I'm by no means of complacent obesity but some of the diets floating around (or continuing to float around) boggles my mind. They all seem to hinge on one basic premise: Hate the gym? Try out these easy peasy diets below and lose weight with none of the hassles that come with exercising.



THE MASTER CLEANSE
The premise is easy - put yourself on a liquid diet for as long as you can stand. The magic potion comes in many forms but the most common recipe includes soy sauce, maple syrup, cranberry juice and lemon juice. Just one word of warning: this potion is meant to move all that stuff you have lodged in your bowels out so be sure you have a bathroom nearby. According to one friend who's tried the diet "It's lucky for me that I work at home because by the third day I farted and almost poo'ed my pants." Fantastic.



THE GWYNETH PALTROW DETOX DIET
Here's the latest celeb diet plan that's fallen across my radar - Gwyneth Paltrow's alternative to the infamous Master Cleanse. It always kind of irks me when celebrities jump on the healthy preach boat to tell us ordinary beings their "secrets" to a slim and beautiful lifestyle like we don't already know: No day job + tons of money to spend on personal trainers + light surgery = recipe for success!

Gwyneth proves us right once again because in all her well meaning wisdom she forgot to account for the fact that most of us women would never have the time or spare change to even start attempting this ridiculous detox plan for one day much less an entire week. Here's a day's sample menu - this one is slightly more indulgent than the rest because it allows you to have dressing on your salad.

7am (or upon rising): Glass of room temperature lemon water
8am: Herbal tea
10am (breakfast): Blueberry and Almond Smoothie
11:30am: Coconut water*
1:30pm (lunch): Salad with Carrot and Ginger Dressing
4pm (snack): A handful of mixed pumpkin and sunflower seeds
6pm (dinner): Broccoli and Arugula Soup
*Make sure that the coconut water has no added sugar. Fresh is ideal but the brands Zico or Vita Coco are readily available.

If this doesn't inspire you maybe this added menu caution will:
"Adjust the time to your schedule and the meals to your taste but remember that there can be no dairy, grains with gluten, meat, shellfish, anything processed (including all soy products), fatty nuts, nightshades (potatoes, tomatoes, peppers and eggplant), condiments, sugar and obviously no alcohol, caffeine or soda."



THE SPECIAL K DIET
Here's an oldie but a goodie. This gem of a diet has been gracing Special K boxes for as long as I can remember. At first it was kind of funny but now it just seems insulting to our intelligence. The diet claims that if we substitute half a bowl of Special K (served with skim milk) in for two meals every day for two weeks, we can easily shed 6 pounds. Head explodes.




THE KFC DIET
Not so much a diet insomuch a ridiculous marketing ploy attempting to pose fried chicken part of healthy meals and balanced diets everywhere. It was taken off the air shortly after the campaign kicked off because the claim was a blatant lie and because we no longer live in the errant and heady advertising heyday of the 1950's although someone obviously forgot to give KFC that memo.

simon gets the snip

I HAVE A CAT named Simon. He's a street cat but is perhaps the clumsiest, most un-street smart street cat I've ever encountered. Aside from constantly knocking things over Simon also has the tendency to misjudge distances when he jumps resulting in more than one instance of him hanging awkwardly off a ledge, trying desperately to hoist his fat body up. It's really lucky for him that I took him in because I can't really see him successfully surviving the mean streets of Shanghai. That being said, Simon is an extraordinarily sweet cat and has never scratched me in our nearly 8 months of living together in a small, studio apartment. In fact, he basically lets me prod, squeeze and generally annoy him to my hearts content while he lays there and purrs.

Our relationship has always been a good one, that is until recently when Simon decided that it was time for him to get a girlfriend. I live on the 6th floor of a walk up apartment which limits Simon's prospects of becoming someone's baby daddy quite a bit. Oblivious to this obvious logistical barrier, Simon has determinely yowled and cat called through the last month in a fruitless attempt to serenade a date.

At first the meowing wasn't so bad but during the last week, he has reached a fever pitch waking me up every night with his calls. You may wonder, who could he possibly be meowing to as I live up on the sixth floor. Well, Simon has a number of crushes one of which is a mystery alley cat who also has a very strong set of vocal cords on her; however, the object that holds his highest affection and one which he spends hours doting and pawing at is his own reflection in my mirror.

At the beginning it was kind of funny watching him paw plaintively at the cat in the mirror but at 2am in the morning it's just plain irritating and at 3:30am, it's nearly intolerable. Finally, after yet another sleepless night due to Simon's raging hormones, I decided it was time for the snip. Simon is currently spending the day at the vets getting his goodies removed which is such a shame because I actually think they look quite cute. For those for you who do not know what a cat's cash and prizes look like here's a picture to enlighten you:



This is not Simon. I found this picture on Google which goes to reinforce the internet's reputation for being the Go To resource for lewd pictures. I think there was text on there that invited you quite forcefully to look at the cat's balls but I cropped it off because I just think that's unnecessary. RIP Simon's fluffy pom poms.

New year. New blog.

THIS YEAR MARKED my very first Chinese New Year in Shanghai and it was surprisingly quiet. I'm used to Beijing CNY's where the city is blanketed in a thick fog of smoke and red firecracker paper and your eardrums throb (and maybe bleed a bit if you're lucky). Good fun.

After this last week of controlled fireworking in Shanghai, I have to say that Beijing takes top place in my little pyromaniac heart for holding the best, the biggest and the most exciting CNY's - my definition of those three being of course a week's worth of deadly explosives being set off 24-7 culminating in grand finale that involves the accidental torching of a Beijing landmark.



The boyfriend came down to join in the yawn worthy Shanghai festivities and we rang in the new year eating curry and watching CCTV's Chinese New Year Performance - technically a 3 hour stage show featuring the best dance and stage performances in the country but, in reality is more like a 3 hour tack-fest where performers try to outdo one another with the amount of sequins they have stuck to their already way-too-shiny costumes.



Taking a break from our daily regimen of eating food and watching back to back episodes of the West Wing, we took a trip to Wuzhen, a small town built on canals on the south side of the Yangzte. I could go on and on about the quaint architecture and how I floated along the narrow canals in thatched boats but instead, I will save those for a later entry and tell you about my shower at the hotel. (!!!!!) You see, in my Shanghai apartment, the water pressure of my shower is so low, I feel more like my shower is drooling on me rather than covering my body with cleansing, watery goodness. Even more annoyingly, throughout the course of this winter (NOTE: Shanghai does not have central heating), I have discovered that my shower likes to fuck with me. Halfway through my shampoo, with fresh suds in my hair, it will decide to fluctuate the temperature wildly either blasting me with ice-cube like droplets of water or skin meltingly hot dribbles.

The shower in Wuzhen was like a gift sent to me by heaven spread evenly on a piece of perfectly toasted brioche and covered with nutella. I have a terrible memory but I clearly recall standing in a haze-like bliss reveling in the joys of consistent water temperature and good water pressure thinking to myself that if my shower at home got into a brawl with the shower in Wuzhen, well, let's just say it would be like a crippled kitten trying to take on Chuck Norris.